


Third Time's the Charm

by Nerenight



Series: The Molly3 Series [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Molly comes back for a third time and he's really confused, Resurrection, hes fine but he died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerenight/pseuds/Nerenight
Summary: Apparently this isn't the first time he had woken up six feet under before, but this time there are clues as to who he is and where he has to go for more answers. He has to get stronger though, despite all the muddled memories. Also - he sees dead people? (Timeline Fic)
Series: The Molly3 Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672030
Comments: 19
Kudos: 256





	1. The First Six Months

**Author's Note:**

> First off,, if you're reading this, then you are either from my Instagram or Twitter where you've seen me working on my Level 10 Mollymauk cosplay and all the sketches that have gone with it - and therefore this timeline work is dedicated to you guys since you all had so many questions that I would have loved to give long answers to but did not have the space.  
> If you're NOT from either of those media sites, then THANKS FOR CLICKING! I've created an entire backstory to go with my cosplay since I feel bad Molly didn't get a redesign. I analyzed the situation and place the Nein left Mollymauk and went from there! Got a little carried away...  
> If you'd like to see the cosplay wip or my sketches - catch me on IG (Nerenight) or Twitter (_nerenight)!

Day 0

_Numb._

That was his first thought. 

Followed quickly by _cold_ as he curled his toes and felt the slick, chilled mud squish around his feet. The only thing he could hear was his own heart. It thrummed slowly deep within, unaware that the lungs meant to keep it alive were having a hard time grasping any oxygen from under the earth. 

His brain was trying to piece something together - anything to explain where he was, what he was, who he was. Everything was dark; obscured in clouds and smoke. His body moved so slowly, swimming with no direction. 

_Breathe_ , his head told him. In a panic, he opened his eyes to the dirt and mud that surrounded him. Nails, overgrown and chipped, clawed up frantically as new clay moved over the pile he pushed away as if keen on keeping him down where he belonged. An air pocket popped, and a rush of air and slush sucked into his throat. 

His head and shoulders were out in the least. The boy coughed and coughed, pulling his body out of the disturbed hole. The sky was dark; a waxing moon in the distance. 

It was a bit warmer above the dirt though the breeze was biting. He was in the middle of a clearing, trees on every side. The clicks in his brain were attempting to formulate another memory. A stick stood out from next to the hole - a torn, weathered, piece of fabric was flown like a flag in the steady wind. Crawling over to it, he ripped it down to investigate. It was faded, but heavily embellished with symbols and motifs. Perhaps he was a religious person? 

No, he thought, that doesn’t seem right. 

He turned to the heavy fabric that clung to his back even while he escaped this grave. Covered in mud, he chipped away until silver and blue thread shown through, a brocade tapestry, the face of a dragon looking back at him. His eyes drifted downward to the clothes he wore - soaked through pants and a shirt coated in mud and dried blood - so much blood. 

Bile rose in his throat as he tore the bloodied tunic from his chest and threw it as far as he could manage, which, frankly, wasn’t that far. He wrapped the tapestry around himself and huddled by the lone stick. Staring down at his body with the layers of scars and intricate tattoos, there was a flurry of visions that raced through his head though none he could place. Another glance down at the long, indented wound at the center of his sternum. 

He thought he heard a woman scream. When he perked up to look into the trees, the wound shot a piercing spike through his body. He cried out, crumbling halfway back into the hole that now filled slowly with fresh mud. 

A combatant, he thought, one that lost. Struggling to catch his breath, the boy heedlessly looked about the hole. The moon shone off the blade of a sword - moved aside from when he originally crawled out. He reached for it, and with it safe in his palm, the breeze brought distant music that danced overhead. 

Grabbing the stick above, he pulled himself back out of the hole, his knees tired and bloodied. A quiet crunch unlike the wet grass around him led him to peel a small paper card that melded with the ground. With the upside faded, he turned it in his fingers to the side with a blotched painting. 

A moon, it was, looking down at the messed up surface. 

He pocketed the card, and with all he could muster, got to his feet. If he once had shoes, he did not have them anymore. His feet sunk into the wet earth. Slowly, and stumbling all the way, he walked to the discarded tunic, ready to throw it into the grave where it belonged. 

A thicker paper fell from its folds. Some parts of it were stained with dried blood. He carefully bent down and picked the paper up. His hands shook as he unfolded it, and as he stared at the symbols written that he couldn’t understand. Lines of words crossed off but they had _meaning_. Tears built in the corner of his eyes as he looked at the letter longer, hoping that somehow he would remember something, anything helpful. As if all the answers were right here in front of him behind a wall of stone. His lips trembled, his nose burned, he crushed the paper to his chest as he looked around the clearing for signs of life. 

“Empty?” he spoke, the word dry and coarse in his throat. “Empty!” 

His voice echoed along the trees only to return to him like a slap to the face. He shuffled toward the nearest line of trees, leaving behind the ghosts of the event that brought him here. 

Day 1

He must have fallen asleep, for he awoke under the exposed roots of a tree, wrapped tightly in the silver and blue tapestry. His hair was long and matted, clumped together with dried mud and pieces of grass. Combing through it roughly with his fingers, his hand brushed the horns protruding from his forehead. At least, what were supposed to be horns. He felt around the jagged edges to the relatively flat surface on top. They were shaved, his first thought was, followed by a dreaded image of another option - he was dehorned. His hands did not leave his forehead; they gently padded around the tender skin where his horns grew. More tears watered the soil beneath him. 

“Empty,” he cried, rubbing his hornless head. 

Day 3

His sword remained close to him as he walked without a destination. Rustling of leaves in the brush brought him great anxiety, thinking of the worst of many unknown things. It felt a little better with the sun up, warming his face and livening the woods a bit more with squirrels and rabbits. 

A stream was the hotspot in this patch of the forest it seemed; as the boy slipped down the rocky path to the water. He peeled his clothes from his legs carefully, and washed them in the running water - leaving the rest of his belongings on a stone next to him. The water was warm, and the tiefling found himself happily kneeling into the current, his tail flicking contently behind him. 

Oh, he had a tail, he thought. How nice. 

He ran his nails over the dried muck that clung to his skin, letting the grime and blood drift downstream. He had more tattoos than he originally thought; the snake crawling up his arm through a bed of flowers, the sun on his shoulder and feathers up his collarbone. His reflection caught him most curious. Though his eyes were red, one looked dimmer than the other, off-color. He blinked. It didn’t hurt, just unusual. This body was very unusual. 

This body had friends, he thought, and enemies. He wondered if his past’s friends were okay. 

He soaked himself until even his hair was free of mud; clean and stuck flat to his back. It began to dry wavy around his face while he sat on the rocks to bask. 

Day 11

His dreams were scattered every night from happy to nightmarish, images from things he did not recognize nor have meaning to. The burrows he would crawl into were cramped, but kept his thrashing minimal, and protected him from the nightly predators. He watched the moon every night before he slept as she grew bigger and brighter, casting a soft beam over his tired frame. The tiefling would walk and walk as far as he could before his legs gave out or his chest hurt from an invisible blade. He had tasted different berries around, some leading to outright vomiting or nausea, but had not yet used his blade to cut an animal down. Whether or not he had the energy to or because he was afraid, he didn’t discern. 

Eventually, he had begun to notice certain energies, particular personalities within the ghosts of his dreams. Sometimes he would see them during the day, or hear them in the distance beyond the distance of his vision. He could count six prominent ones, two semi-formed, and one distant, abrasive energy with no face. 

The two semi-formed entities were often daytime visitors, appearing in the corners of his eyes while he walked aimlessly. To his left was a black cat - its red eyes shone no reflection from the light as it padded its way to keep up with the tiefling; it watched his every movement, curiously flicking its tail whenever the boy stopped to catch his breath. It never wanted to be touched, often staying close but out of arm’s reach. To his right walked a long-feathered, brightly colored peacock. It was this one that the boy felt closest to, and while he was very interested in this spirit, the peacock was completely uninterested in them, especially the cat. It walked with purpose, on a path invisible to the tiefling. He found himself following the peacock’s way instead of the blind journey he was on. The two spirits, he linked, were past lives. Though how he was in the same body confused him even more; he stared back at the black cat as it licked its paw. 

“Empty,” the tiefling said to it. It meowed in return. 

Day 15

The first time the tiefling saw another humanoid being, came at the middle of the night when the moon had grown full and he could not sleep with the noise in his head being the loudest it had been. Trying to separate what images were from the cat and which were from the peacock was exhausting; and he wandered to a small clearing where the trees revealed the starry sky. His tapestry was starting to come apart at the seams, and he spent much of his time tying knots into the threads to keep them from unraveling further. 

“My lost child,” a voice hummed like a harp through the clearing. The boy shot to his feet, pulling his scimitar from his belt. 

“Empty?” he replied, turning around to find the voice he had not heard before. There were quiet rustles in the trees; he felt his heartbeat pick up. 

A different voice spoke up, older and less ethereal, but firm and confident. “Who are you to trespass on sacred grounds?” 

A woman stepped out from beyond the trees, dressed in leather armor and draped clothing, her hair was coiled and free, bouncing lightly around her angled face. She carried a staff in one hand and a short sword in the other. 

“Answer, stranger!” she shouted. 

The boy did not move as the human walked closer to him. His hand on his scimitar quaked as he tightened his grip. He did not want to fight the first person he found. 

But the human stopped, her mouth parted in a small “o” as she watched the moon above them cast her glow over the malnourished tiefling. She let her eyes drift cautiously over his figure, from his worn out clothes to the scars on his skin and the posture of his blatant fear. “Okay,” she said, calmer this time. She lowered her shortsword. “I can take a hint.” 

The tiefling moved as she did around him, his tail curling around his own leg when she stepped closer. 

“Do not be afraid,” she said, “I will not harm you. You are on the meeting ground of the Circle of the Moon. We do not often get visitors this way north.” Finally in front of him, she sized him up. “You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.” 

“E-empty...” 

“I figure.” She dug into a pouch to her side, pulling a small roll of bread out and handed it to him. She watched him curiously as he inspected the food, squishing it between his fingers like he had never seen baked bread before. Glancing up at the moon, she sighed, cautiously wrapping her arm around the thin man’s shoulders. “Come with me. I have a grove nearby. My name is Ku’ra. What’s yours?” 

Ku’ra did not prepare to have any guests in her grove; but when the Moonweaver plainly put a spotlight on a lost soul, it was ridiculous to not abide by hospitality. The tiefling who did not have any discernible name as of yet - his injuries must have led to some sort of amnesia, she thought - plowed through her pile of food and wine like he was going to die in the morning. She watched him from her chair by the firepit while he chugged the last of her bottled wine. 

“I hope you don’t get sick from that,” she said aloud, though she wasn’t sure if he heard her. “I haven’t met any tieflings before.” His horns caught her attention the most. “Did you do that to yourself or did someone do that to you?” 

He lifted his hand to the nubs of his horns and frowned. “S… ome...one,” he forced out in Common through his tongue’s protesting. A small victory. 

Ku’ra made a sharp click. “Bastards, the lot of them. I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

The tiefling suddenly jumped in place, causing Ku’ra to leap to her feet. He rummaged through his person, producing a bloodied piece of paper and haphazardly stood up, the wine settling in. He unfolded it and shakenly held it up for her. Words written in Common were scribbled out in a shaking hand. 

“You want me to read this?” 

“Empty!” 

“Okay,” she said, taking the letter. “Do you want me to include this stuff that’s crossed out too?” 

He nodded vigorously. “Empty, empty.” 

Fluffing her hair, Ku’ra sat back down with the letter, skimming it quickly. The tiefling knelt down by her, his hands on her lap as he waited. “It starts off with ‘Mollymauk’ and ‘Molly’ crossed off,” she began, eyeing the boy. “‘Your name is Mollymauk.’ It says, then with ‘I’m sorry we left’ crossed off too. ‘If you are reading this, you are alive again. I am glad you’re back.’ Though that part is scribbled out… Wait, were you dead?” 

The tiefling - Mollymauk - eyes wide like a doe, slapped at her legs to continue. 

“Okay, but we’re talking about that later… When I teach you how to speak. Ahem. ‘Beauregard has your fancy sword.’ Crossed off is: ‘I’m sorry we buried you.’ ‘We have to go rescue the others, but you will be able to find us through the Gentleman. He is located in Zadash.’ Now I don’t know who the Gentleman is, but Zadash I know of,” Ku’ra added. Mollymauk moved so he could look at the paper too as she read. She placed her finger on the words for him to follow along. “This crossed out part says ‘Please come back, I miss you.’ And it’s signed ‘Mister Caleb’ crossed, ‘Caleb Widogast’ crossed, ‘The Mighty Nein’ uncrossed, and ‘your friends’ crossed.” 

He took another minute looking at the words and their meaning. He died among his friends; his friends were in trouble; they want him back; Mister Caleb wanted him back. 

Ku’ra didn’t expect for newly named Mollymauk to fall off her lap in pain, clawing at the vertical wound in his chest. She knelt by him, looking it over. It did not heal properly, and something had prevented it from healing further, as if the body went to decompose but rejected it partially. “Hang on, Mollymauk, I got you.” She pressed her hands to his chest, trying to ignore the poor boy’s tears as his knees bent up and he clutched her wrists. “By the Moonweaver, you have quite the grip.” 

Mollymauk didn’t feel this sort of agony from the wound since he woke up; his vision hazed at the edges while he tried to focus on Ku’ra and her wide brown eyes. A shadow towered over the edges of the grotto, growing darker over them both. 

_“Hmph,”_ it breathed on him. _“Respect.”_

He gasped as it bared down on him. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, blotting blood onto his chest. But, as he blinked away the fog, he did not feel any pain. Ku’ra’s magic sewed his gash together with a thin, silver thread so that the edges met plainly. Her hand slid up to his forehead, pushing away his hair from his face. 

“Are you alright, Mo? Can you hear me? Mollymauk?” she said calmly, waiting as his eyes darted around the dimly lit grotto. “Does it still hurt?” 

He shook his head, looking down at his chest. “Empty,” he said plainly. 

Small ice crystals scattered to the floor. 

Day 26

He was assigned, as if a patient, to another two weeks of bedrest. Within Ku’ra’s small druid grotto, he found himself small, easy tasks to do while she went out on druidic business. There were quite a lot of symbols related to the moon - from the etchings in the stone to the smallest crystals hanging carefully from the ceiling. It felt safe - albeit open to the outside, a draping of ivy blocking the entrance and the soft bubbles of a creek just on the other side. Sitting on his makeshift bed on the floor, he propped open the small book Ku’ra gave him to help learn words while he grinded minerals for a potion in a mortar. Open vowels felt weird to his tongue as he slowly pronounced the name of his predecessor, the name that he would get used to being called. It wasn’t a bad name; maybe a bit too long, but there were many nicknames to it. Ku’ra’s personal favorite was Mo, as it “required the least effort” and “was fast to say.” 

Mollymauk practiced the written letter to himself often. While he bounced the syllables of Caleb Widogast playfully in his mouth, and Beauregard came out in three huffing breaths, the name of the Mighty Nein continued to get stuck like sap to the N. 

He leaned back into his pillows, trying not to pick at the magical thread in his chest. He wondered how long it had been since the Mighty Nein left him behind. 

Eyeing the peacock spirit casually as it nipped in vain at the scimitar resting against the wall, Mollymauk glanced to the plentiful white scars that lined his arms. 

Day 58

When Ku’ra returned from one of her trips, she found Mollymauk sitting by the creek, using a whetstone to sharpen his blade. He was talking aloud, seemingly to himself, though his face turned one way to the other as if in conversation. 

“Who’re you talking to?” she asked, sitting down behind him. She took his growing hair in her hands and combed through it with her fingers. 

“Oh, I didn’t hear you arrive,” he replied, a little embarrassed. 

“That’s because I was sneaky like an owl. There were poachers in the western quadrant; I did not want them to rejoin each other.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“So, Mr. Tealeaf,” Ku’ra said, separating his hair into three parts, then one of the three into another three, “what has your attention so captured?” 

Mollymauk fiddled with the stone in his hand as he contemplated. “You know of the visions I see - the ones that I told you of from my dreams?” 

“Like the cat and the peacock.” 

“Aye, but, well, these are a bit different. They are just - what’s the word...” He paused, setting the stone on the ground. “Auras, I suppose, is a way to describe them.” 

“What are they like?” Ku’ra placed a stem of a flower gently between his hair, continuing to braid down his back. 

“There are a few. The first one is tall; she’s powerful and beautiful, like a meadow of wildflowers in a mountainous valley. You can stand by her in a storm and be completely dry. There’s another one… a bit shorter, but she gives off a similar powerful energy. There’s something a little arrogant about it,” Mollymauk stopped to grin, “but she’s steady, she’s firm like a rock and you feel safe that she will be behind you. I could carve every word I know into the stone and it would remain as strong as it was.” 

“Are most of these auras feminine?” the druid asked. She was working on the middle braid now. 

Mollymauk’s hands drifted around as he talked, gesturing in the air as if they were still in front of him. “Most of them. The next is so endearing; she’s loud and loving, she leaves a sweet taste in the air, like snow; the kind you can fortify and build from.” His hand drifted down to a lower height. “The last of the girls is much shorter. She’s quite abrasive, but well intentioned. She’s very much like a cloud, the way they change, the way they predict what will unfold just moments before it does. Fun to watch, though quick to disappear.” 

Ku’ra was content listening while she did his hair - he never talked so often in the past few months; his learning developed fast. “And what about the masculine ones?” 

The tiefling brought his hand to his mouth, nibbling on his fingers for a moment. “There are only two of them that are prominent… a third is, well, there, but I can’t make out much of it. One energy is like a river: pleasant to be around, to listen to, to drink from. He’s risk-taking and fun, a rush of adrenaline. The other is different, in a similar way. He’s warm and quiet; a campfire. One you light to feel safe in the dark. You want to fall asleep near it and it will be there when you wake up. But he can grow in size, so very hot it burns; but if tended to right, returns to his comforting size…” 

Mollymauk stared at the creek in silence while light tingles from the soft pulls to his hair relaxed his shoulders. 

“I think these were the Mighty Nein,” he said. “Or are. I don’t feel like they are dead.” 

The human, weaving the last of the handful of flowers into his hair, hummed. “They sound alive to me if their energy is so strong to you. What of the other one?” 

“Hm?” 

“The one you can’t get a full reading of.” 

With his sword to his side, Mollymauk frowned. He brought his knees up to his chin. “I just see a hand. I don’t know…” 

They sat there for awhile in the shade while he thought. The tiefling’s tail flicked forward into his lap and he picked at the piercings through the rough skin. 

“He is Time,” he determined. “And I fear him deeply.” 

Day 191

“Is this wise?” Mollymauk asked, digging his heels into the dirt. They were trailing a band of traffickers through the southernmost quadrant of Ku’ra’s reach of the dense forest. His skirt drifted lazily in the late summer breeze, the numerous paintings flipping from one image to another. 

“Since when was wisdom your priority?” Ku’ra mocked, pulling at his tail. “You’ll be fine. I’m a great teacher.” 

“I don’t deny that you're a great teacher, but,” he paused, adjusting the folded tapestry that draped his shoulder. “This is important and I don’t want to mess it up. There are children on that caravan.” 

“I’ll be right with you. The moon is on our side - look, she’s already quartered.” Ku’ra pointed in the distance to the horizon where they were headed. “A beautiful evening to save some souls as you want and rid this forest of these cretins as I want. Wild Shape comes naturally after you keep practicing. This is a prime opportunity!” 

“‘Prime opportunity - more like primal opportunity you hippie.” 

Ku’ra reached over and smacked Mollymauk lightly on his hip. “Just because Jurou calls me that, doesn’t mean you can. I take you to one Circle meeting and you befriend the entire region, by Chauntea help me.” 

Mollymauk chuckled as he checked his hidden blade hidden in the upper compartment of his wristbow. “That’s because I’m charming and adorable. Everyone loves an amnesiac who sees dead people.” The small caravan teetered onwards, as did the two trailing them from half a mile back. As the moon lit the way, Ku’ra shifted into a giant elk, her shoulders rising over Mollymauk’s head. It was terrifyingly natural how easy it was for her to blend into the trees, Molly thought, following lightly behind on foot. 

He felt less bad about the murdering of the men when he heard a small cry coming from the covered wagons. Kneeling in the bushes, Mollymauk notched another quarrel into his wristbow and aimed it at the closest guard walking behind the group. Ku’ra circled around the side, preparing a charge. The bolt fired into the unsuspecting human soundlessly, and Mollymauk rushed forward to catch him before he fell dead to the dirt. After he quickly patted him down for any clue on where the caravan was headed, he fell into line with the wagons, eyeing where he believed Ku’ra was waiting for an ambush. 

He skipped a few feet ahead in quick steps to step up onto the lower ledge of the cart. Using a finger, he nudged the curtain to peek inside. Iron bars of cages blocked half the entryway. The tiefling pushed the curtain a bit further, testing his luck. He wasn’t, of course, very lucky, as another man angrily pulled the curtain open - surprised to see anyone besides the dead man left a few yards back. 

“Hey-!” the man started to shout before he found a blade in his throat while the tiefling grabbed his collar and pulled him out of the wagon. He gargled on his own blood and landed face first into the dirt. 

Mollymauk climbed in, looking quickly at the seven children crammed into the three small cages. Four humans, a half-elf, and two smaller halfling children. If there were as many people in this cart as there were in the others, they were looking at least thirty people to get home. 

The children fell backwards in the cages, scrambling to the side as the tiefling eyed them one by one. “Please don’t eat us,” one human girl whispered. They all gasped and hushed as the lavender man knelt down in front of them. 

“I’m not going to eat you,” he replied. “I’m here to get you home. My name is Mollymauk.” He held the lock in his hands. “And I totally should have frisked that guy for keys before tossing him.” 

Low on time, he stood back up and removed his scimitar from his belt. 

“Please stand back,” he said, and dragged the blade across his bare chest. “Ow.” 

Ice crackled over the blade and slowly flaked over his wound. He pressed his blade against the lock and pushed. It wasn’t something he practiced often; in fact, the scars annoyed him a little bit, but he would not deny the usefulness of whatever oddities his past selves got themselves into. The harder he pushed, the more brittle the metal lock became; his blood dripped in a small puddle on the floor. _Quiet,_ he had to be, the driver could not find out yet. 

With a final push, the first lock broke free, and Mollymauk, holding back his panting, pressed a finger to his lips as the children moved out of the cage. It took him another few minutes to break through the others, and with the last lock, he could smell the ale on the driver’s breath as the man belched low. 

The cart stopped and everyone froze, staring at the tiefling while he sheathed his sword, helping the halflings from their cage. _Setting up camp_ , he heard, his ears perking. He could only hope Ku’ra was able to pick off some of the men in the meanwhile. Telling the children to close their eyes, he quickly turned around and extended his hidden blade into the back of the driver’s head before he moved from his seat; reaching his hand around the curtain, he pulled the heavy man inside the wagon, stabbing him once more for assurance. 

There was a startled commotion outside to the front of the caravan. Thumping and clapping of hooves like thunder, meant his druid was on the move. 

“C’mon kiddos, time to follow the tiefling,” Mollymauk said, scooping the smallest of the children up. He slid out of the cart and helped them down one by one. “Into the trees, quickly. Run with the moon to your back.” 

“Hey - stop there!” 

Mollymauk looked over his shoulder to three men, swords at the ready and quite annoyed faces at the youngest of their sales getting away. The children piled behind the skirts Mollymauk wore, gripping the fabric as the men dared move closer. 

“Run,” the tiefling told the kids once more as a growl grew and rumbled out of his throat. From under his hair grew dark ears and his tail shifted into fur as he crouched on all fours, shifting completely into an eight-foot-tall dire wolf at the sheer horror of the traffickers. 

Mollymauk found there was some sort of irony when he howled at the rising moon, and contently licked the blood from his claws. 

Day 200

It took over a week for Ku’ra to contact the local druids to find out where the parentless children had come from. The grove was steadily decreasing in its max capacity of people over the days as those taken had rested enough and packed enough food for their journey home. It was something of a relief to Mollymauk that most of the kids he saved from the cart weren’t orphans and had some semblance of a family to return to. More than half crammed their bodies onto the arrangement of pillows and blankets Mollymauk used for a bed whilst he slept, poking the tiefling awake whenever he’d talk in his sleep or thrash about. It was a kind gesture, though inadvertently kept the man awake in fear that he might hurt a child with his movements. He would just watch the cat and the peacock sitting at the entrance of the grove stare back at him with their red eyes. 

“Are you mad at me?” he’d ask the peacock the next morning before the company woke. He sat on the corner of the creek, washing his face. The peacock spirit floated lazily over the water, ruffling its feathers like it got wet. “Is it because I’m using your name?” 

The peacock dipped its head away, pacing. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to go as. The damned cat doesn’t give me information; I don’t know his name. For being so different, you two are very similar.” 

The peacock honked angrily, its feathers raising large. 

Mollymauk smirked, cleaning the crevices in his cut horns. “Deny it all you want; you’ve both profited off this weird blood magic; keep secrets; and want nothing to do with each other, but I’ve seen both of you trying to steer me in some way that you want. He may have gotten you in the ground, but you put me there. Our main difference is that I want to know you. I want to know you both.” 

A small pitter of chubby feet on stone grew louder. A human girl, about five, who Mollymauk specifically remembered introducing herself as Maylene, hugged her weight around his shoulders. “Are you talking to the water?” 

The tiefling eyed the peacock spirit - who reasonably calmed down and was fake floating again - and huffed. “The water would make better company, I’m afraid,” he said, pulling the child over his head. “What are you doing awake so early?” 

“I had a bad dream,” she said, holding on to his folded tapestry at his shoulder. 

“What about, little one?” 

“My mommy and daddy won’t find me. I’ll get lost again and my brother Simon will forget about me.” 

Mollymauk smoothed out her bedhead. “I’ll make sure you get home safely. Your family will be so happy to see you - and your brother will be sure, I promise, that you’re never forgotten. And if that’s not enough, I’ll be sure not to forget you either.” 

“But Zadash is so far away…” she mumbled, digging her face into the crook of his elbow. 

“Zadash is -” The slow burning sensation in his chest rose again, pushing at the silver lining of the scar down his middle. “Is…” Voices rang in his ears, startling enough that Mollymauk closed his eyes at the laughing - the screaming - the shattering of glass - 

_“I’m only going for grumpy people today!”_

“-Molly, are you okay?” 

He blinked, Maylene holding his face between her small hands. The pain in his chest subsided. “Oh, yeah, I’m alright, dear. Just…” He glanced over at the peacock, who had moved closer in investigation. “I’ve been to Zadash once. It’s not too far away. I bet we’ll make it there before the leaves fall. We’ll talk to Ku’ra when she gets up, okay? Pick your favorite snack for the road?” 

If the peacock spirit could grin, Mollymauk felt like it would be. Truth be told, he had no idea how to get there.


	2. The Road South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time he headed to Zadash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys could see me as I shoot up in bed at 3am with another idea for this fic,,, I could probably go on with head canons forever, and will likely do some spinoffs with my ships because my heart needs to be full with the affection Mollymauk desires and needs.  
> Thank you guys so much for the support! On here, Tumblr, and Instagram - I've really felt so much love. Enjoy the middle path of Molly3's adventures to finding the Mighty Nein!

Day 207

It had taken Ku’ra and Mollymauk another two days to collect and strap together everything he and the child may need on the journey to Zadash. The druid tried her best to draw out the paths to take, which towns to avoid, and which constellations to follow. 

“Zadash is essentially straight south, but there’s a large mountain pass you’ll have to go around. Take a left here and you’ll be heading through a town called Hupperdook. I hear it’s an interesting city - you can likely get more supplies there if you need to,” Ku’ra had said, throwing another satchel over Mollymauk’s shoulder. “If you’re going to camp anywhere, please be careful. Get high into a tree and hold onto Maylene while you sleep; she doesn’t have darkvision like you do.” 

Mollymauk nodded, tightening the straps so that they wouldn’t budge. “Left towards Hupperdook and around the mountains going south. I’ve got it.” 

_“Work hard, party hard…”_

The tiefling squinted at the trees as they rustled around the grove. Something different in his chest started to hurt; something that sent him back. “I’m going to miss you,” he said, looking deep into Ku’ra dark brown eyes. His nose stung while he felt water rising in his vision. “I’m going to miss you a lot.” 

Ku’ra pressed her lips together and wrapped her arms around the man’s chest. “I am happy for the time we’ve had together. You’ve worked so hard.” She squeezed him tightly. “Be sure to come visit again when you’ve found the child safe. The moon will guide your way - she knows your destiny.” 

Presently, a little under a week into their trip on foot, Maylene had insisted on being carried. By the fourth day, she was crying from overexertion. Wary of the road around them, Mollymauk expended some of his energy into shifting into the wolf form he had spent time practicing. The child road on his back, high in the air, gripping to the dark fur around the neck of the beast. It was a sure deterrence for anyone who saw them, and they were left alone for the hour at a time that Mollymauk could upkeep the form. At night he would help hoist her into the largest branches of the trees and wrap her in the layers of his painted skirts to keep her on his chest. The sounds of owls and cicadas set a tranquil atmosphere as he tiredly watched fireflies dance around the feet of the trees. They would be leaving the forest at dawn, passing through Shadycreek Run; and as Ku’ra told him, to get through it as quickly as possible. 

Goosebumps ran over his arms as he thought about the city, hazy memories making him nauseous. He was stuck laying there, back hard against the tree trunk with a child in his lap, breathing deeply through his nose. He wiped his clammy hands along the bark, trying to focus on the sounds of the woods rather than the low laughter of the dark shadow that pounded on his chest. 

A light energy settled on his arm. Through one eye, Mollymauk saw the peacock spirit resting its head on his hand. It rolled its feathered crown in his palm, pushing more weight into moving it until the spirit sat contentedly over the child on his lap. Mollymauk watched it nestle its head into the dip in his chest. 

“You’ve never been this cuddly before,” he breathed, placing his other hand over the plumage that cascaded down the tree, disappearing into the ethereal plane. “You’re so weird.” The peacock shifted slightly to stare up at him. The tiefling laughed silently to himself, a tired smile accompanied a tired blink. “Well, thank you, Molly.” 

Day 208

It was the cat spirit that woke him up before the sun peeked over the horizon. It carefully pawed at his nose, meowing until the tiefling moved, spine stiff after laying in place for so long. 

“Five more minutes,” his little, human companion mumbled, pulling his skirt over her shoulders as she huddled into his thigh. 

His bones cracked one at a time while he maneuvered the child to his chest, prompting her to grab around his neck. “Hang on, Maylene,” he whispered, digging his nails into the bark of the tree while he swung his leg over the branch. His toes lightly hit the ground, the heels of his boots dipping into the soil; it likely drizzled not long before. Mollymauk walked through the last bits of the forest, seeing a city for the first time in his life beyond the wood. 

Frankly speaking, it was disgusting, and Mollymauk resisted the urge to bolt right through the Shadycreek and get on the road towards Hupperdook as quickly as possible. Maylene held his hand while she ate a handful of dried fruit and nuts that Ku’ra had tied to her belt. It was a bit of a mixed bag, seeing so many people at once, eyeing him - the jewelry he wore, the scars he bore, and the child by his side. Though, seeing the scimitar at his hip and weapons encased in the bracer, most looked away to their own business. Maylene gripped his hand a little tighter. 

“It smells bad here,” she said, pulling the back half of his skirt around her so that she almost walked under it. 

“I know,” Mollymauk replied. He squeezed her hand in hopes to comfort her, and kept his eyes trained on the armor-clad population. Many reminded him of the slavers he and Ku’ra killed just weeks ago. 

Wistfully through his legs, the cat spirit pranced along the muddy road as they walked southward, his pawprints disappearing one after another. 

He seems to know where we’re going, Mollymauk thought. He followed the cat around to the plaza in the center of the town. The hairs on the cat raised as it hissed at the tavern to their right, and opted to go left, towards the ornate two-story building, and let out a long purr as a woman slid out of the doorway. 

She was slender, curvier at the hips where her skirts bellowed lightly in the morning breeze. Her brunette hair was curled and loosely tied up into a bun. 

“Hey there, Lavender,” she said. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.” Smiling when the tiefling stopped, she took a moment to saunter the few feet away from the entryway; a violent wave of vanilla incense followed. “Not in a rush, I hope. You look stressed.” 

She stood just a few inches below him, her smile not completely unpleasant. Mollymauk caught her eyeing the golden cuff around his neck - a gift from the Moon Druids - and took a step back. 

“I’m fine, thank you. I do have a place to be, but have a nice morning,” he replied and went to move around her. 

“Your accent is adorable,” she said, side-stepping in front again. “Surely you can delay an hour, I’ll be worth your time.” Her fingers crawled lightly up his chest, tracing the dull scars on his collarbone. “You look so delicate with all those flowers in your hair, but here you are, riddled in wounds. I’d love to hear the stories.” 

“I don’t really have stories. And the flowers just grow there for some reason,” Mollymauk laughed awkwardly, glancing back and forth from the cat rubbing figure eights against their legs and the woman who went to town touching every available part of him - from his braid to the tapestry, up to his horns. He grabbed her hand before she could touch the raw surface of the inner bone. “Don’t, please.” 

She retracted her hand, at least respectful of boundaries, and went back to flirting. Her eyes drifted down to Maylene - who had attached herself to Mollymauk’s hip. “Aw, you have a child. Quite young to be a father, aren’t you? Is her mother still in the picture?” She put a finger forward and the tiefling felt the child stiffen. 

His blade was shot out of its hidden fold before the woman’s hand passed his leg. “Touch her and you’ll be ripped open neck to navel,” he said, eyes dark. The cat purred at his feet. 

“Sorry,” she said, wary, but overall unfazed by the blade. “Naturally curious person. Do you have money or not?” 

“You’re very pretty, but I’m sorry, no.” 

“Well damn. You’re the best looking man I’ve seen around here in a long time. That’s unfortunate.” 

Mollymauk glanced around the nearby buildings and the people that lined the streets, the rats in the garbage and on the benches, and then to Maylene who stepped uncomfortable in place. The quicker out of this place, the better. 

“How about we let the girl use the washroom and I’ll make out with you in the meantime.” 

Day 209

It was nighttime, just after midnight. After finangling around the town, avoiding getting into any immediate trouble like cutting off a man’s finger for being too nosy or starting a bar fight after the purple tiefling called a mercenary something he couldn’t understand, but a table of tieflings in the corner started hollering the name louder and the tavern erupted into confused banter, throwing fists and daggers here and there - all these things that Mollymauk reminded Maylene did not happen and to not tell her parents about. 

“Are you married to that lady now?” she asked as they sat by a fire in the open road. It was too chilly to wander to find a tall enough tree to hide in. 

“What?” Mollymauk bit into a piece of jerky. “Married?” 

“Mommy says you only should kiss people you’re married to.” 

“Oh, um. I mean,” he cleared his throat. “I was just cutting a deal with her so you could bathe and all that, you know? I think kissing has different meanings depending on the situation. Doesn’t your mum kiss you?” 

“Yeah…” 

“And she does that because she loves you, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“But you’re not married to her.” 

Maylene giggled. “No, silly, she’s my mommy.” 

“Right,” Mollymauk said, unaware where his analogy was going. “I don’t think I’m married, anyway.” He eyed the cat who curled up on his lap. “At least, I really hope I’m not for their sake.” 

He spent the rest of the night thinking about if he accidentally just cheated on anyone in his past lives. 

Day 215

“I want milk.” 

They were in the middle of a trading road, midday, watching the third wagon roll by them with merchandise and wares. Maylene was following the swaying direction of Mollymauk’s tail, catching it between her chubby fingers to play with the piercings and cuffs along the ridges. 

“I can’t marry more people every time you want something we don’t have, kid,” Mollymauk said, looking over his shoulder. “I am a precious commodity.” 

“What’s a comedy?” 

“I don’t know, I heard Ku’ra saying it to Faulster about me once - oh, he’s another druid. I think it’s, like, something good.” 

After another half an hour, Mollymauk scooped the girl up for her to nap. He hadn’t slept in a while - the uncomfortable sense of being like prey kept him awake, staring back at the path to the north behind them. They were getting closer to Hupperdook according to the passing gnomes and incredible amount of supplies coming and going. Smoke plumes rose from the distance, man-made clouds between the mountains. 

He carefully rounded the bumpy paths in the roads, his feet were aching, but empty on supplies, he couldn’t stop until they got there. 

Walking into the city made of metal was far different than anything he could outright recall. His heels clicked on half the ground he walked on; and as the sun set, the streets were loud with running gnome workers - red fireworks going off above them - going home at the day’s end. Mollymauk held tightly to the young girl as grownups her height sped past. It was hard getting someone to talk to, getting directions was almost impossible. The tiefling pushed through the crowds, looking up at the upper tier of the city. 

Suddenly the people were gone. In an instant, the streets were empty, hardly a soul in sight. Maylene idly let go of Mollymauk’s hand while she peered around corners to find the missing people. 

“C’mon, Maylene, we have to find a way to a marketplace,” Mollymauk called out to her. He dusted the soot off the black tops of his boots to no avail, got up and turned around. “Maylene?” 

The corner she was just standing in front of was empty. 

A darkness swelled in his chest. 

“Maylene?!” 

He ran over to where he last saw her, soles sliding on the ground without proper footing. There were footsteps in the soot everywhere; the tiefling searched the ground for feet her size, but in a city of majority gnomes, it was practically impossible. His heart thumped as his breathing stopped. There was a set of human sized shoe prints running up and back from the spot. He booked it, keeping an eye on the path of the footprints as they ran through alleys between warehouses. 

Suddenly the footprints stop; in the middle of nowhere no less. Mollymauk stepped back, looking around the field of dead grass amidst the machinery. 

“Lost?” a voice whispered behind him, he felt the breath on his ear. 

The tiefling whipped around, meeting a brass knuckled fist with half his own momentum and thrown back to the side. His jaw felt numb as he stumbled around, getting back to his feet to focus on the half-elf who just threw the punch. Behind him was a human, holding a struggling Maylene. Mollymauk’s temper flared. 

“Let her go,” he said, hand drifting to his scimitar. 

“You’re the one who took our brothers down in the Dunrocks, eh? Took some of our products and then decided to mock our boss?” the half-elf cocked. “You think you’re some big shot, huh? Taking what’s not -” The fighter jumped back with a yelp as the tiefling lunged forward, bringing his scimitar down on the man’s forearm. “Fuck! I was talking!” 

“Let the kid go,” Mollymauk said again, the exhaustion from the day was bearing down on him. 

“Go on, Penfir, kick his ass,” the human taunted, pulling Maylene up higher by the base of her hair. 

“Molly!” she cried, grabbing at her head. 

He launched forward again, sword swinging low. This time the mercenary was ready for it; the man jumped back, bashing the blade aside with his armored hand while throwing another fist into the tieflings nose. There was a firm crack, blood trickling down the tieflings face. He quickly turned, slicing into the half-elf’s back. Every time Mollymauk would try to make it closer to Maylene, he was thrown back to the ground - ribs cracking, eye swollen shut - he covered the mercenary in a plethora of bleeding knicks, stabs, and cuts. They rolled into puddles of what smelt of oil, slashing and punching, the heat of anger and adrenaline pumping through Mollymauk’s chest as Penfir landed another knuckle into his temple. 

**“Do I look like the kind of man who dies?”** he snapped in a foreign tongue, blood and fire licking at his lips as he stared at the half-elf above him. The mercenary’s armor took flame, drenched in gasoline, he lit up like the sun. Tearing himself off the tiefling, he swatted at the fire helplessly, dropping to the ground trying to put it out. 

Mollymauk stood up, swaying in place for a moment as the blood rushed down from his head. He heard a whimper and slowly turned his eyes to the human who was rushing to knock a bolt into his crossbow. Mollymauk put his own quarrel to his skin and nicked his blood on it, loading it into his wristbow - ice crackling around its edges. His ears were ringing, his eyes registering everything in slow motion from Maylene crying at him with her arms out, to the fired bolt lodging itself into his abdomen; Mollymauk lifted his arm and fired his bolt right into the other man’s eye, ice exploding around his face on impact. Maylene was dropped to the ground. Her eyes looking back up to meet his, but with further fear rather than relief. 

Another punch to the back of his head sent him to the dirt, the world spinning. His attacker fell next to him, charred and dying, hatred in his shouting. Mollymauk watched in silence while a dark figure rushed up to them, the steel glint of a dagger in hand. 

“Go fuck yourself!” 

Day 216

Mollymauk woke up gasping, his brain immediately thinking he was under the ground again and going into overdrive to make sure his whole body was there. His face felt fat; what he could see through one eye squinting was the white fluff of gauze taped over his nose and over his cheekbone. His growing horns ached, the skin around them burned numbly. What he guessed was bandages were bound tightly around his waist, pressing down on what he felt were seven stitches. 

He heard a tired yawn next to him. And after a slow and aching turn of his head, he saw a sleeping Maylene on a cot with a small bandage to her head and the shine of ointment on her arms. Behind her was a window, looking out to a square, full of gnomes, dwarves, and others, partying in the street with music and games. The moon peeked through a gap in some buildings, shining in the small room with warm light. 

The pain in his body was agitating. His patience with invisible wounds was growing increasingly thinner by the day. Summoning all the strength he could and with the words that Ku’ra taught him, he pressed his hands to his abdomen and cast his first healing spell. It wasn’t much, but enough that he could sit up without crying further. He could see his sword resting on a table next to his clothes that looked washed and pressed. 

A familiar happy voice preluded the opening of the door, “I’m so proud of you!” A black kenku sauntered in, holding a pot of water, trying her best to keep it balanced in her feathers. 

Mollymauk gaped at her, this child, who stabbed the half elf earlier. “You’re just a kid.” 

“I killed people,” she said, a different voice surprising the tiefling. “I am Kiri!” 

“You mimic people?” he asked, trying to remember facts about kenkus from the druids. “Is this your house?” 

“Momma and dad.” 

“Your parents’ house? Did you carry me up here alone?” 

“Yes, I am very sweet,” Kiri replied, balancing the pot of water on the bed for Mollymauk to take. In a slow movement of astonishment, the tiefling very carefully brought the water to his lips. 

“Thank you, Miss Kiri,” he said. “That was very brave of you.” 

Her voice switched again, into a man’s voice. “This means we are friends?” 

The accent struck something; his throat tightened while the kenku went about cooing over to Maylene, patting her face gently and pushing the blankets up higher. 

“Whose voices are these you’re using, Miss Kiri?” Mollymauk whispered, his hand moving up to touch the covered bruises of his face. 

Kiri hopped up happily, her plumage jostled and a shrill voice called out, “Welcome to the Mighty Nein!” 

His one good eye was blinded in tears. 

It was another few hours before the parties outside quieted and someone new entered the room. Mollymauk spent the rest of the night crying into his knees, or rather, wheezing into his knees while the tears poured out, catching any breath was almost impossible with the bandages around his face. Kiri, the kenku, had been startled at the outburst, moving around the bed, cooing “okay, okay, okay” in another ghostly familiar voice. 

She knew them, he thought. This young girl knew his friends. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. The moon dipped away from the window. An older gnome woman entered the room with a vial of red liquid. 

“Kiri,” she scolded quietly, “they’re trying to rest.” She set the vial down on the table and gently moved to check the bleeding through his bandages. “Kiri, go eat something and take a nice nap, okay?” 

The little kenku’s energy deflated as she hobbled to the door. And as she turned to go, looked back at her mother’s back and said “take care of them,” in Mollymauk’s own voice. 

The tiefling’s breath left his lungs as the room spun around him. 

Day 218

His face hurt a little less waking up this time. Cool ice had been pressed to his eye, and despite the comment of a teenager about his face being multiple shades of purple, the room was kept to a comfortable environment. He heard people bustling outside, and felt the warm beam of the sun coming through the window. Someone walked through the door and the smell of warm soup wafted in the air. 

“Is Maylene here?” Mollymauk asked. Even pulling away the ice didn’t help him see - his face was so swollen. After there was no immediate answer, he raised his voice. “Is the girl here?-” 

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I was checking on your nose. It’s quite a break. The potion helped a lot though, so that’s good.” 

“Maylene.” 

“Of course, dear. She’s with my daughters right now in the kitchen having lunch. She’s all right, just had some scrapes and bruises.” 

Mollymauk sighed. “I have to get her home to Zadash,” he explained. “Her family is waiting for her there.” 

He went through as much of the story as he cared to mention - from the traffickers to Shadycreek Run and his traveling exhaustion. It wasn’t uncommon that he slept for so long, the woman replied, and mentioned that Kiri had gone to get help in carrying him and Maylene to the Upper tier of Hupperdook. 

“As for the Mighty Nein,” she added, “they were so helpful in getting my husband and I out of prison - and keeping my children out of danger. We adopted Kiri as soon as they asked.” 

“They’re good people?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” 

Mollymauk felt a smile tug at his lips. “That’s good.” 

“There was a young lavender tiefling with them as well; we never got around to introductions but -” 

“I know who you’re talking about, ma’am, but I assure you it wasn’t me,” Mollymauk interrupted, then paused. “Sorry, please continue.” 

The gnome patted his hand. “It’s okay, dear. It doesn’t matter too much - we haven’t seen the group in quite a long time. Not with the war happening.” 

Mollymauk grunted and sat up into a sitting position. A spoon was pressed against his lips and he carefully opened his mouth, the vegetable broth still hot. He shook his head and swallowed, trying to look out his eye. “What war?” 

Day 225

There was some amazement in it, as the people partied until they passed out, that anyone would be dancing like their city wasn’t in disrepair from being attacked just months earlier. Mollymauk wondered which past life of his was perhaps an alcoholic - a connoisseur - as he tasted every available drink someone handed him in the street. From wine to ale to straight up liquor, the gnomes of Hupperdook clearly knew what they were doing, or at least were chaotic enough not to. 

His bruises faded to yellow under his skin as he spent most of his healing spells mending the puncture to his abdomen. He spent hours chatting with Kiri, trying to get all of his friends’ voices in her replies. Mister Caleb had the Zemnian accent - words that curled at the edges, the tiefling could hardly resist smiling. Beauregard’s voice, the boulder, was coarse but made him laugh outright, as the imitations were very inappropriate for a child to say. Mollymauk didn’t have all the Nein’s names, only the two Caleb had written, but it was comforting to give their residual energies a voice. The blunt sway of the river’s to the meadow’s soft lull. Maylene was laughing alongside the children of the Shuster’s. They would be leaving soon - Mollymauk having enough energy to dance in the middle of a crowd was a decent sign that he could walk the remaining week’s journey to Zadash if he kept a steady pace. 

“I miss you! I miss you!” Kiri shouted, helping her mom pack some food for the road. 

“I’ll miss you too, Miss Kiri,” Mollymauk smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Perhaps you and Maylene can have playdates when things settle, aye?” 

“Aye?” she repeated. “Yeah, she’s a pretty good egg.” 

The tiefling ruffled the top of her feathers, “Be safe with your dagger now if you go save another unfortunately handsome, lavender tiefling from murderers. You’re the guardian of your good family, right?” 

“Okay, okay, okay.” 

Maylene cried, giving her new friends hugs goodbye, taking a small toy Layla gave her and holding it to her heart. She tugged lightly on Mollymauk’s skirt as they walked outside in the early morning. “Can you be a wolf today? I don’t wanna walk,” she said pouting. 

He glanced over the descending mountain valley and shrugged. “Aye, we can, but let’s wait until we leave the city, okay? We don’t want to stir up any more trouble - my nose can only take so many fractures.” 

It was a short, but tenderfelt goodbye as they left. Mollymauk stepping away from their home with a deep sense of nostalgia, finding the peacock spirit shuffling idly by his feet, glancing back at the kenku with worry. Its crown drooped as the house disappeared behind them. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Mollymauk whispered to it. Its head tilted up, red eyes pleading. “We’re going to be okay.” 

Maylene took over where the spirit stepped, grabbing the tiefling’s arm. She pursed her lips and made a small howling noise while she bobbed up and down. Mollymauk huffed a quiet laugh and nodded, letting her climb onto his back while he expended some energy to shift into his dark coated dire wolf form and booked it out of the gates of Hupperdook. 

Day 233

Zadash was not what Maylene had described it as. Mollymauk was captivated by the tall towers that spiraled upwards into the sky, some taller than the trees that grew undisturbed in the forests. The young girl ran into the streets, giddy with excitement to tell her family the adventures she went on and how mean northerns were. Mollymauk spent his time keeping a close eye on her, not letting her out of his sight. The evening autumn air nipped at his skin, breezing through the streets low and hard. It was tough to listen to Maylene while the ghosts of memories squandered by them; Mollymauk felt his heart move up into his throat; he pressed his hand over his chest as he was pulled along. 

Both peacock and cat were out this time, the first in a while. They phased through the passing people, set on staring towards a distant road, but dragged along when Mollymauk left the square into a tunnel that guided them into the center of the city. The ring of businesses they reached kept Maylene determined to be able to find her own way, and Mollymauk wasn’t going to doubt her. He gawked at the glowing buildings, from the inns to the temples - a simply dressed man carrying a bucket of well water bumped into the slow walking tiefling, startled at first, but with a quick note of the blue and silver tapestry folded over the tieflings shoulder, he apologized and bowed his head before taking off again towards the luminescent shrine on the other side of the circle where blue tapestries drifted. 

“Come on, I can see home!” Maylene exclaimed, her hands slipping through Mollymauk’s grasp. He snapped out of his daze, grabbing her fingers. 

“Careful, love, I don’t want to lose you again,” he replied, shuffling behind her as she ran as fast as she could with such short legs. He didn’t think about how he would react when she finally got back to her family, especially when he spent the last month being both a caretaker and guardian. They ran passed an off guard Tabaxi woman, who had side stepped out of the way amidst her gaping. “Pardon us,” Mollymauk said, waving his hand as the young child picked up speed to her front door. 

He didn’t even have the opportunity to knock before Maylene practically hurled herself at the wooden door, pushing it open and crying out for her mother. He stopped in the doorway, watching the human mother drop the pot she was using to make dinner and scream. She engulfed Maylene in her arms, tears falling uncontrollably. A man, who Mollymauk assumed was the father, shot out of the neighboring room, ready to defend his wife from the stranger in the door, but stopped when he saw his baby girl curled up in the woman’s arms. He glanced back at the tiefling, and Mollymauk quickly bowed his head in recognition. 

They had tried to pay him, holding out handfuls of silvers and coppers, begging him to take it for the safe return of their child. He turned them down. Maylene hugged his legs, asking if he could stay a while longer. 

“I have to find my family, now, love. It’s been a long time,” he said, petting her hair. “I’ve been lost too.” 

“I can help!” she wailed, gripping his skirts as he stepped back into the road. “I can help!” Her parents took her waist and helped pry her fingers off the fabric. “Molly, don’t go!” 

It hurt a lot to walk away. Maylene’s parents brought her inside, and finally she was safe and home. Mollymauk set his hands over his eyes while he walked back to the circle, ready to sit on the side of the road to rest. He could feel the blisters lining his toes. The stone was cold under his ass, and both peacock and cat spirit hovered in front of him - moving closer with each slow blink. The peacock nestled on his lap, emitting a strange noise when the cat came to attention, its meowing consistent. A shadow hovered over him. 

“Lucien?” 

The tabaxi woman lifted him up, high enough that his toes couldn’t touch the ground as she squeezed the everloving daylight out of him. “Oh, Lucien, it’s felt like eons since I’ve last seen you! Where have you been - your blood trail ran cold, and no one mentioned you again after the group you were with said you guys had a falling out. They must have been pretty shitty for you to leave them, I’m sorry about that, but I’m so happy to see you - look at your hair! Has it really been so long? Oh, Lucien, you have to come back to the Troupe, you look like you did before your ritual, stringbean. Come on, let’s get you some food.” 

Mollymauk’s temple was thudding. The woman spoke to him confidently, definitely knowing him. When she finally allowed his feet to touch the ground again, his tail wrapped cordially around one leg. “Sorry, what did you say about the group I was with?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. “How long ago was that?” 

The woman didn’t notice his growing anxiety, or at least didn’t comment. “That Mighty Nein group or whatever told us a year or two back that you had some disagreement with them and that’s why you didn’t come back with them here. They had some taller firbolg with them instead. Quick to replace you, huh?” Her hand guided Mollymauk by the small of his back towards a simple bar. “But I’m happy you’re here, Lucien. I’ve missed you so much.” 

The cat spirit braided between their legs, purring delightfully. Mollymauk’s brain ticked backwards, trying to understand how long each spirit had been alive for both of their names to be remembered. 

“Forgive me,” he said, as they walked into the low-ceiling bar. “I can’t remember if we had the chance to talk much when I was last here.” 

“Hardly, your so-called friends practically dragged you away,” she replied, nodding towards the barkeeper as they exchanged words briefly. She nudged Mollymauk to follow them as they went around back and the barkeep lifted a door in the ground. The tiefling stepped back into the tabaxi as his vision spun. It was starting to get increasingly difficult to discern which memories were from the cat and which were from the peacock, and frankly, which were his own. 

“You’re,” Mollymauk mumbled, pressing the base of his palm between his horns, “Cree.” 

“The one and only,” Cree chuckled, waiting for him to go down the stairs. “Are you feeling okay, Lucien?” 

“Lucien,” he repeated, blinking slowly. “Yeah, I’m just dehydrated. I’ve walked a lot today.” 

The tabaxi carefully hung on to his arm. “Let me help you then. Just like old times, right?” she said, an honest lighthearted tease to events he couldn’t recall. 

“Aye,” he said, letting her lead him down the spiralling staircase. “Just like old times.” 

“What happened to your horns?” she asked while they descended. They could hear the loud clamor of mugs and music just below them. 

“I traded them for eternal life,” he lied without thinking about it. The cat spirit purred close to his ear as it rested on his shoulders. The peacock trailed behind, clearly unhappy. 

Cree chuckled, taking it as a joke rather than anything serious, and didn’t pry deeper. “That would be just like you,” she said, as they reached the landing. “We should talk later - about the Tomb Takers and friends - after you discuss a deal with him, of course. Maybe we’ll be roommates.” 

“Him?” 

They stopped in front of a curved mahogany table, on one half was an array of paperwork - half sorted - and the other half was being used for a single player game of cards. Mollymauk’s eyes drifted up to the form behind the desk, dressed in a dark blue, heavily embellished coat, his hair slicked back behind his teal ears. 

“Well, well,” he said, “What an interesting story you must have.” The man looked up into Mollymauk’s face, folding his leather clad hands together. “It’s been a while.” 

Day 234

He rubbed the spot where Cree had taken more of his blood for the Gentleman’s collection. He found where he was supposed to go, and learned that the Mighty Nein had either completely lied about him to Cree or they really just let him go. His spare hand touched the pocket where the old letter was kept; it was his only keepsake. 

Laying in his new bed in a new room in a new place was new - he stared at the ceilings that felt beyond dark in the dead of the night. He had agreed to work with the Troupe - not having much of an option except to keep moving forward with the way life was weaving around him. Rolling onto his side, he lifted the moon tarot card that dangled from his neck - feeling the damaged paper as he lightly glided his thumb over the surface. 

He’d cry that night, quietly into the pillow, as his heart rivaled the pain in his mind. Sleep came for him eventually, though restlessly as he tossed and turned through the afternoon in the forest clearing, the shadows and the shouting, the cold seeping into his muscles as the ground latched onto him once more, his veins filling with soil. 

Then it would be warm, the moon overhead, singing sweet nothings while he slept for centuries in her embrace - 

“-ly, it’s me again. Just thinking about you. I finished your deck! It’s soooo pretty now, I think you’d like it! Miss you lots -” 

The voice in his head shot him awake, sitting upright in a momentary stupor. He pulled his blankets around him, looking around the room for someone who could have been whispering to him. Phantom snow lay around the room, dusting up onto his lap, sparkling and soft. Knees drawn up to his chin, he sat with his tail curled around him, dried tears chipping away from his cheeks. 

“Miss you lots,” he whispered back into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cat spirit Lucien is a punk and he knows it. Peacock spirit Molly wants to get this 8 month old tiefling to his friends before any further first-life associates cloud some senses.  
> I'm trying very carefully for Molly3 to have both past lives personalities seep into his own as circumstances arise. There's a darkness to him, but also he is such a bright boy - a bright dumb boy. He's the cookies and the cream. He will take any and all affection shown to him - he doesn't know any better.


	3. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The epilogue to this three-part introduction to the third life of Mollymauk Tealeaf. I wrote the first bits before a certain episode aired and shOUTED when that THING happened, so it's just coincidence when you get to that part and are like "ay!" The rest of this I wrote on my day off yesterday; I really wanted to finish up this before I debut the cosplay at Katsucon this week.  
> Thank you for all your messages, I read every single one of them and they warm my heart so much. Stay tuned for an announcement at the end of the chapter!

Day 281

Having tasks to do was welcoming. Mollymauk rather preferred to be busy than to sit in the local tavern where Cree would chide him, Lucien, with questions and stories that did not quite sit well in his heart; things about rituals and witches, feasts and beacons. _Nonagon_ , the name would come up almost weekly. Mollymauk generally didn’t mind Cree, it was better than being alone, but a handful of people passed his thoughts on whom he’d rather be with. 

Mollymauk tapped at the potions dangling by his hips while Cree talked about the next business they would get to on the Gentleman’s behalf. He wondered if his snow-auraed companion would find him in his dreams again. 

Day 302

“What do you think, Lucien?” Cree asked, cocking back the crossbow she snatched from one of the bandits. “Shoot them all at random or just the one who calls himself the leader?” 

They were traveling up the Amber Road, not long after dark with a small campfire set and the two exchanging watches, when several men attempted to snatch their horses and bags. The bandits hardly looked menacing - dirty clothing and missing teeth. They looked between Cree and Mollymauk nervously, scuffling in the dirt together. Mollymauk frowned at them; something was off. 

“Lucien?” Cree nudged his arm. “Hey, you in there?” 

The tiefling crouched down, pulling the closest man over to him by the handkerchief on his face. The human was on the younger half, maybe mid thirties. His eyes darted back and forth between Mollymauk’s. 

“Have we met before?” Mollymauk asked, his hidden dagger gently prodding the bandits cheek. 

“W-what?” the man stuttered in reply, his friends murmuring behind him. “I don’t…” The pause was what enraptured Mollymauk. Wandering in the soil between these disgusting men was the peacock - showing up for the first time since Zadash. The tiefling’s frown slowly shifted into a smirk. 

Something from Molly’s time was surewell welcome. 

Mollymauk rapted his knuck against the bandit’s chestplate - newer than the rest of his clothing, but still worn and dusted. “You need a bath,” he said, letting the man go. 

The bandit fell back on his butt, a hand to his chest while he looked longer at the lavender tiefling with the red eyes and many tattoos. Slowly, avoiding Cree’s eyes, he hesitantly pointed to the area over his own forehead. “Your horns are lookin’ different, sir, I didn’t know it was y-you,” he exclaimed. 

“Stenton, what’re you doin’?” one of the other bandits whispered over to him. 

The main man, Stenton, bared his teeth and glanced over his shoulder. “Dammit man, don’t you remember Trevor?” 

Mollymauk’s smirk split into a fanged grin. Cree lowered the crossbow - both disappointed and awed at her Lucien’s ability to draw people in. 

She didn’t know. 

Day 348

He lay in his bed, alone in a small room of an inn just a few miles north of Kamordah. Every night he would hope for Miss Snow to say something new in his sleep; weeks had passed. Perhaps, he thought, it was just a dream. Kiri had used that voice before on many occasions back in Hupperdook, it would just be like Mollymauk to imagine another voice in his head. But maybe he waited too long; in the midst of his surprise, he didn’t respond until minutes later. 

Mollymauk sat up. His hair was still damp from the bathhouse - their earlier task of delivering a threatening message to a group of smugglers and mules had also included many a dip into some swamps, and muck had gotten under his nails while he and his entourage held the disobedient crooks under the water. 

The quiet whispering from the room next door from the several ex-bandits, now somewhat respectable, but still quite petty, criminals. He understood that they had run ins with Molly and the rest of the Mighty Nein before; more or less the brigaders were compliant through fear and respect, with Cree keeping them in line when Mollymauk wasn’t around. Leaning his head against the wall, the tiefling quietly listened to the boys tell each other stories and clink glasses together. 

It didn’t take long for his two spirits to appear in his room. The peacock, out and about more since they adopted these men, happily laying by the foot of the bed, its plumage draped over the side. The cat paced the room, its tail flicking ever so slightly; a murr stuck in its throat. 

“Oh shut up, Lucien,” Mollymauk said, “You’ve just been meowing since we got here. Making me look like a buffoon for yelling at nothing.” He tossed his pillow over to the cat, which phased through it and growled. “You must be enjoying your spotlight.” 

The peacock honked, annoyed. 

“Even Molly agrees - you’re very rude. I’ve dealt with being called your name the entire autumn season.” The tiefling slid his feet over the bed and stood up, wrapping his braid into a small bun at the nape of his neck. There was a slanted and small window facing the woods in the back of the inn. Though dark, he could see that the last of the yellowed leaves were falling. “I haven’t even been walking the earth for a year yet,” he commented, moving to pick up the pillow. “And you two have just been throwing your thoughts into my head at the worst times -” 

The peacock honked again. 

“And good times, I know, Molly. You’re really setting a high bar here,” Mollymauk said. He leaned against the wall, hugging the pillow to his bare chest. “But I did everything that was asked of me. I learned how to read - a little, I went to Zadash, I found the Gentleman… where are your friends, Molly? I thought they were supposed to be here.” He slid down the wood panelled wall, pressing his face into the pillow. “Now I’m with Lucien’s friend doing missions for a crime ring when I thought we were supposed to be good people. I’m so confused.” 

He could feel the two spirits on either side of him, pressing into him. 

“I miss things I haven’t even experienced yet because of you two. And I’m not mad - I’m not - it’s just…” His eyes lifted from the pillow, tired and damp. “You two seem so full. And I feel so - so empty.” 

Day 350

“Alright, you two go and buy us more blankets and camping supplies - it gets cold at night over here. You three: rations and lots of them. Stenton, can I trust you to barter a good deal on a wagon?” 

“Yes, sir, you can count on me!” 

Mollymauk handed them all some gold from his coin purse. His boys cleaned up well after some training, many baths, and a new wardrobe. He tucked the pouch back into the layers of his skirts, turning to go grab their horses from the small town’s barn. 

“What about me, Mr. Boss, sir?” Cree asked, smiling as she walked next to him. 

He brought his hands to his chest, fiddling with his left arm bracer. “I didn’t think I needed to find you a thing to do; you’re a capable woman. Do you have everything you need?” 

She patted her bags and potion vials. “I do!” she said, still smiling. “I’ll come with you to grab the horses. Maybe we can get one more for the road.” 

“Okay,” Mollymauk replied, digging his nail into the trigger that set off his blade and carefully cleared out the dust around it. He wished he thought of another thing they could have needed for the rest of their journey. 

He was tired. Not physically; there he sat on the edge of the wagon, resting his head against the wood as they lightly bounced over the wandering road. He let his eyes drift over to the boys - Stenton, Immory, Lisle, and the others who walked alongside, talking about their past ventures; especially when the Nein were brought up did Mollymauk eavesdrop. Cree led their party up front on the horse she claimed for herself; her ears set forward while her tail rested lightly on the back end of the steed. Mollymauk narrowed his eyes. She had done nothing wrong to him, in fact, she was excited whenever they had alone time, but he felt like there was a deep hole he was slowly sinking into with every passing day. 

And as he learned: he did not like being buried. 

No, he was tired mentally. There was nobody around to assist him in learning new words or practice writing - most of the men from the bandits were illiterate as well, and he was damned if he were to ask Cree. There were no druids, no new friends from Molly’s past, and no word from the Miss Snow who, he figured, must have had been a dream. 

It was more common now, anyway - the closer he let these two spirits to him, the more intense his dreams were. He remembered throwing a poor cat down some stairs from his most recent dream. Eyeing Lucien’s spirit, however, he could fathom throwing one again. 

Being tired mentally did not prevent Mollymauk from wandering the wood around their campsite. The trees here were growing similarly from how they did in Ku’ra’s grove, perhaps seeing a bit more sunlight. All the leaves were long gone, only pines flourished with the winter season. The tiefling pulled a pinecone from his hair. _Great_ , he thought, _I’m sprouting._ He was doing quite well in brushing off people’s questions on the flowers and plant-life in his hair. Many take it as joking when he sincerely tells them they simply grow there. Gingerly, he let his fingers trace his scalp where his roots met with different roots; it didn’t hurt any more than tugging his hair follicles would, and Ku’ra found it very endearing, not something to worry over. 

The moon, which was visible for much of the afternoon as the sun set early, was waxing in her peak of the sky. She would set after midnight, leaving the camp to be on their own light until dawn. Mollymauk carved his name in Druidic on the surface of a flat-faced stone and sat on the dead grass in front of it. He sighed, hearing the group calling to each other as they cooked their food over the fire. Falling back into the pile of overgrown weeds and fallen twigs, he stared at the moon. 

“Well?” he asked her. “Where are you supposed to be guiding me to? I’ve been all over what feels like the world and I think I’m more lost than I was when I crawled out of the mud.” 

He paused, as if the Moonweaver would answer. 

“What do you need me to do? Become a cleric? I hardly remember I can heal myself, let alone others. Paladin? Look at me!” His voice was hardly above speaking level, but he felt as if he was shouting for hours. “This is the product you purchased! You’ve already returned me twice.” He kicked his feet up on the stone. “I’m establishing a no return policy this time.” 

The wind kicked up the debris and discarded it over his face. 

“Yeah, all right,” he replied. “I’ll just… lay around under here then.” 

Day 351

The moon set on time, per usual, and Mollymauk took watch alongside Lisle, one of the younger of the bandit boys, perhaps just fresh out of his teenage years and not part of the group when they ran into the Mighty Nein. His brown hair curled at the edges, which he pushed under a cap to make himself look older. It didn’t work well. 

“Sir,” Lisle whispered, mindful of the sleeping party. “Can I ask you somethin’?” 

Mollymauk poked the fire with a stick, his arm barely poking out of the blanket he threw over himself. “Aye, go for it. Not sure how much I can answer though.” 

“Why do ye do this?” 

“Sorry?” The tiefling sat up, confused. 

“Like, me - I ran away from home and needed easy money; the boys were moving on to huntin’ with some robberies here and there and took me in. I send some money back home to Ma, but me and the boys - we like family now.” Lisle pulled his cap further down his face. “And no offense, sir, but you and the ma’am don’t really seem like you connect well.” 

Mollymauk started picking at his nails. “Oh,” he said. “Aye, well…” He glanced about for his thoughts, his spirits, anything, to no avail. “We knew each other from long ago, but our priorities are different now.” 

“Why do ye work with her then?” 

“I don’t know what else to do. I’m lost.” He glanced up at the young human through the flames. “My family is, well, I’m not fully sure they will want me even if we do find each other. I’m not exactly the same as I have been.” 

“I think you’re pretty kind, sir,” Lisle chimed in. “And wiser than you believe you are. The boys and I agreed that we would follow ye if anythin’ were to happen between you and the ma’am. If that family of yours doesn’t want ye, then we’ll be glad to keep ye.” 

A tired smirk pulled at the edge of the tiefling’s face. 

“But,” Lisle added, “they’d be dumber than an ogre to turn you away, sir.” 

Mollymauk flushed, tucking his chin into his elbow as he pulled his legs in. It was the first time in weeks he thought that maybe things would turn out alright in the end. 

“Another question, sir?” 

“Mm?” 

“What’s it like to have fangs?” 

He scoffed. “It’s awesome, but sometimes they get caught on your lip and rip it open. And if you’re making out when that happens, you really scare the man who now has blood in his mouth.” 

“Gods.” 

“Aye, it was ridiculous, I couldn’t stop laughing.” 

Lisle quietly worked on cleaning his sword while their night watch continued. Two hours burned by as Mollymauk continued to feed the fire. Leaving the warmth of the blankets to grab more wood was a sacrifice for the hot burn of the flames that left his cheeks magenta. His arms were full of twigs and dry grass when a breeze blew through the trees; it tousled his hair and pulled at his skirts with enough force he took three stumbling steps north. 

_Trouble,_ the trees sounded. 

_Blood,_ the earth groaned from under his feet. 

Mollymauk watched the spaces between the forest northward, his eyes adjusting to the darkness that engulfed the horizon. Shuffling over to the campsite, he carefully dropped the kindling by Lisle feet. The boy looked up at him. 

“Stay here,” Mollymauk commanded, picking up his gear from his spot. “If I’m not back in one hour, something is wrong.” 

“Where’re ye going?” 

“North. Mile or two. Druid stuff,” he said, leaping over the fire and running with the wind towards the foreboding aura. 

His adrenaline pushed the cold nipping away as he ran, his breath became small clouds that were carried with him with every jump over fallen trunks or ditches. He could hear the rumbling, like thunder, under the ground. Thoughts sped through his head on possibilities - from elementals to mine accidents and everything in between. When the peacock spirit fazed through the air and appeared by his side, Mollymauk bit back the thought that this could involve _them_. Not with the stench of blood looming. 

His heels slid in the mud as he stopped before an immense hole. It could be overlooked by any average person by how it lay, and that person would fall indefinitely to the bottom. Mollymauk stuck his scimitar into the ground and peered over the edge; the hole was the certain opening to a cave - wide enough to lay six wagons across and four long. Even with darkvision, he had a difficult time seeing to the bottom. Just ragged stones and stray vines stuck out from under the mud. The peacock descended into the darkness despite his tether’s frozen form on the edge of the cave. 

Mollymauk felt like he was staring into the hole of his grave. The cold rushing air from below pushed the tears out of his eyes while gravity desired only to push him back into the muddy hole in the ground where he belonged. His grip on his sword only tightened. 

Shouting echoed from below, from somewhere far within the darkness, in the depths of the cave’s tunnels. People were in danger. 

“Fuck,” Mollymauk whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Pulling the sword from the ground, he sheathed it in his belt. His form crouched down on his knees as the magic of Ku’ra’s training shifted him into a dark, agile panther. His claws dug into the walls as he descended the opening to where the bitter, iron odor wafted. 

The trail into the tunnels was full of set-off or dismantled traps. Things that simple miners would never do, although the entrance was enough to convince him that a mining accident was out of the options for scenarios happening. The panther kept low against the side of the walls, listening to the echo of fighting. Through the gaps in the hanging stalactites, the tunnels circled a large dome, where within the darkness, flashes of fire and magic lit the walls, casting long shadows and bringing Mollymauk’s attention to the flurry of people facing off against a woman. She stood, shortsword in hand, calling out to the handful of adventurers around her. They in turn ran to hide behind columns of stone. 

Mollymauk carefully watched the encounter - the lone woman didn’t appear so threatening, it was hard to believe with a large group that she would pose much of a challenge. The ground around them rumbled; the panther took a step back. 

A wall of lightning ignited the dome in a painfully bright white light, rocketing in a line towards the cluster of adventurers; they rolled and ran, some shooting back magic towards some creature out of Mollymauk’s sight. 

_So the woman isn’t alone,_ he thought. He scanned as far up the ceiling as he could under his cover, but couldn’t discern any creatures in the settling darkness. 

The peacock spirit appeared beside him, feathers upright as he shrieked into Mollymauk’s feline ears. His attention back down to the fight, he watched as the woman slowly approached one of the party who had fallen to the ground. A ripple of familiarity scorched down the panther’s spine as he launched himself forward into the dome, his paws landing with a soft thud on the hard bedrock below. He was faster in this form, more so than the direwolf, and he hurled himself at the armed woman, clamping his jaws around her shoulder, his momentum sending them both forward in front of the young lady on the ground. 

The girl shrieked, mostly in surprise, and scooted backward on her butt, her hand going to wipe the blood flowing from her nose. “Oh, shit!” she yelped, her accent scoring deep into Mollymauk’s memory. Without unhinging his teeth from the woman, the panther looked up to the girl, meeting her soft glowing violet eyes - which widened immediately. “Watch out, kitty!” 

Small teeth inserted themselves into the cat’s neck. Mollymauk could feel the burning sensation trickling into his muscles as he tensed, letting the woman go in an attempt to pull away from the pain. From her hair were snakes, three of them with fresh blood dripping from their fangs. The panther backed up, shaking his head to get his range of motion back despite the poison sifting through his system. 

The medusa stood up, her own blood dripping from her shoulder where Mollymauk tore a chunk of flesh away. She turned to the cat, and in return he kept his eyes to the ground. “You’re new,” she said, walking towards him. “You’ll make a lovely statue to keep in my study.” 

A growl bubbled in his throat as the poison started to disrupt his animal form. He hardly felt the cold hand dip under his head to pull his face up. 

“Piss off, bitch!” a voice reverberated in Mollymauk’s ears. The medusa was met with a sturdy punch to the face, cracking bone and sending her back to the floor to writhe. “Jess, you okay?” 

The voice belonged to what he guessed was a human. Big goggles were pulled over her eyes, her uptied hair was falling out, and her bloodied knuckles went unnoticed by her as she pulled the other girl to her feet. Mollymauk pawed the ground, stumbling over to where they stood and away from the medusa who was collecting herself. 

“Is this Caleb?” the violet-eyed girl asked, rubbing her hands over Mollymauk’s feline head and behind his ears. 

_Oh, that’s very nice,_ he thought, not listening, the pain subsiding a little. A purr rose. 

“What? Caleb is back behind the columns prepping his wizard stuff,” the human replied in a deep whisper. 

“Are you telling me I’m just petting a random panther, Beau, c’mon look at him - he’s adorable and already loves me.” 

“Uh, yeah, Jester, that might just be a random panther.” 

Mollymauk, half distracted by the good scratches and poison delirium, almost missed the name. His ears perked up immediately; his heartbeat thudding harder in his chest as he looked between the two women. Gods, he hoped he wasn’t just imagining them. 

His gaze got caught in between them as he looked up at the tall slope of the dome, and the long, twelve-legged, serpentine behemoth creature that had clawed its talons into the wall, gazing down at them beneath it. Its body easily surpassed forty feet long; its mouth lit up in an electrical charge. 

Thrown evocations blasted into the beast from beyond a patch of stalagmites, drawing its attention from the girls to the adventurer who cast them. It crawled down the wall, shaking the stone with such force, the ceiling crumbled slightly above it. Snaking through the cave, the behir raised its head to bite at the party. A shrill scream echoed in the darkness, followed by a rapid release of crossbow bolts. 

“Nott!” Jester cried. 

“I’m okay!” the voice hollered back. “Just a flesh wound!” 

“Hang on, I’m coming!” The young woman ran towards the beast, leaving Mollymauk and the human behind. 

It was both their instinct to follow her, that overwhelming urge to protect, but the problem at hand stood to their side, as the medusa ran towards them, sword at the ready. 

“You should look at your opponent when they kill you,” she said, bringing the blade down by Beau’s face; the human dodged it narrowly and backed herself into a wall as the second swing came upwards, barely grazing her cheek. A snake latched its fangs into the human’s wrist, only to be torn from its owner with a painful shout from both medusa and monk. 

Mollymauk leapt back between them, knowing his wild shape was failing in health, and clawed at the enemy’s abdomen. He felt Beau sidestep around the wall behind him; he wished he knew how badly everyone was injured, and how long they had been fighting for. 

“Right ahead, Caleb!” Beau shouted, ducking around a column. 

The panther eyed the form as another human slid out from cover, dragging his fingers forward along his palm. Immediately he knew he had two options: to run or to make sure this attack hit. He bared his teeth and clamped down on the medusa’s leg and held her there as she noticed the fire barreling their way. 

Fire, as Mollymauk found, damn well burned. He felt it tear through his panther form, the magic hissing away as he took the rest of the pain on his physical body, letting the medusa go and falling backwards into the hard wall behind him. She glared at him with such hatred, Mollymauk had to close his eyes to feel for his scimitar. Her screaming was right into his ear, her hands grabbed his face; he felt her nails dig into the skin around his eyes. 

“Madam, it’s rude to bite people without consent,” Mollymauk huffed, drawing his sword across his forearm and into the woman’s side. The magic ice protruded from the wound while her back scorched under the continuous flame of the wall behind her. The tiefling felt her weight fall on him; the limited oxygen in the cave being consumed by the fire made it difficult for him to push her off and have enough energy to scramble away from the corner. He crawled behind the columns, gasping for breath, his chest burning in more ways than one. 

“Friend or foe?” A staff prodded the back of his head. His breath hitched as he watched the two pairs of boots step on either side of him. The peacock idled in between them, looking at Mollymauk endearingly while the tiefling’s blood dripped down his face, falling from the gashes under his eyes like tears. 

His hand drifted to his girdle, where he kept the letter folded and safe. “Friend,” he whispered. “Gods, I hope your friend.” 

He wasn’t sure if they would recognize him. For as far as he knew, their Molly had full grown horns, shorter hair, and didn’t turn into animals whilst living. Peering up, their faces were lit warmly by the fire around the corner. It reflected off the goggles of the monk and the auburn hair of the man next to her. The shadows stretched and fell over their silhouettes, quiet in the gap the three hid themselves in. Mollymauk studied their faces in silent wonder - from the beads of sweat that gathered along the monk’s hairline to the blood that dried around the man’s slowly growing stubble. They were all breathing hard. The two humans exchanged looks, the monk sliding the goggles up onto her forehead - revealing bright blue eyes under a tense brow. 

“Who -” 

A thunderous clap sent those standing to their knees as the behir roared from the other side of the cave, its body diving forward for another attack. 

“FLUFFERNUTTER!” 

The ground cracked. 

They fell. 

The water was cold - half frozen - when Mollymauk hit it. It was enough force to knock his breath right out of him as he and piles of rubble splashed into the underground well. His mind raced immediately to find the two humans that stumbled down the stone shaft with him. Opening his eyes, under the water was even darker. Black shadows of rock fell fast through the water - he was mindful to avoid them. Pressing his hands together close to his sternum, he spread his fingers and pushed the water in front of him; the still water then jettisoning him forward as he swam around the infinite pool; he repeated the motion, his lungs aching while he scanned the bottomless pit. 

A strand of bubbles flew upwards beside him. Mollymauk spun and dove further down, catching up with a heavy piece of rubble that was pushing the human man deeper. His eyes were bloodshot, blindly pulling at the rock to try and move around it. The tiefling grabbed the man’s wrist and pushed his body in-between the man and rock, adjusting so that he couldn’t possibly let the man go when he cast shape water and pushed them both out of the way and into a clear space. Both scrambled for the surface - if there was one at all - clawing and kicking. 

The air was thin and full of dust, but a saving grace for the two boys as they gasped and coughed up the muck. 

“I’m done with this grayscale,” Mollymauk mumbled, grabbing the hilt of his sword and cast daylight. It illuminated from his belt through his layers of skirt, letting his eyes adjust to color and for the human to see at all. 

“Scheiße,” the man spat, rubbing the dirt from his eyes. “Beauregard, are you…” he blinked carefully, “you’re not Beau.” 

“No, I’m not,” Mollymauk replied, looking him over as the water lapped at their chins. “Are you okay, Mr. Caleb? You’re not injured anywhere? Broken anything?” Blood floated haphazardly between them. “Are you cut? Do you need something? I have some potions, I think one is a health potion,” he said, trying to stay afloat while pawing the small vials on his belt. “Ah fuck, I think they broke, um, well, that’s okay, I have healing spells prepared -” 

The man didn’t stop staring at him as he let loose his nervousness in a monologue; his breath clouded in the air. 

“Your lips are turning purple, shit, um, I don’t know if anything I have can warm at the moment, but…” Mollymauk whispered a little spell into the water as a small nature spirit plopped out of the bubbles, lightly landing on the wizard’s shoulder. “There, he’s a healing spirit so that can help you feel w-warmer…” His legs were getting numb. 

The human traced his eyes down the choice plumage of the spirit that rested on his shoulders; a short puff of air escaped his lips. “You’re Mo-” 

“You!” 

There was a short skip of boot against stone as the other human launched herself from her landing to the tiefling, pushing him back under the ice, her hands grabbing at the little fabric she could get across his shoulder. Breaking the surface again, she spun him in the water and held him against the limestone walls. Mollymauk gasped, putting his hands over hers as she shook him. 

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Why do you look like him?” He noticed the tears pooling in her eyes, but it easily could have been from the cold. She pulled back and pushed him again when he didn’t answer. “Why are y-you here?” 

“Beauregard,” he said in three short breaths. He hadn’t spoken the name aloud in months. 

“Don’t say my name in his voice,” she replied. She was angry; she was in pain. 

Caleb swam over, his shoulders shaking. “Beau,” he said, “Beau, listen.” His voice was low, tired, but warm. 

Mollymauk loosed the grip he had on Beau’s wrists, letting his arms float beside him. His forearm had clotted, ice ticking over the wound. Beau had her teeth gritted, lips turning a bright blue. She glanced over to Caleb, the healing spirit the tiefling modeled from a peacock on his shoulder, back to the red eyes tiredly staring back at her. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered. Her eyes dropped to the Platinum Dragon tapestry she had her fist wrapped in. “It’s okay.” He watched her gaze drift slightly over to the long, indented scar in the center of his chest; he let her touch it, holding back a wince as memories flooded in - clear, obvious visions from Molly’s past. 

Beau’s voice caught in her throat. 

“Perhaps,” Caleb murmured, “we should get out of this water before we drown, ja?” 

Mollymauk carefully removed Beau’s hands from his clothing. “We’re okay,” he continued to whisper. She dropped slightly in the water, the surface grazing the tip of her nose. “C’mon…” His tail looped around her as a secondary measure as he led her and Caleb along to find a viable space to climb up on. 

Beau’s fist connected with his cheek the second they all settled in the dry opening to another tunnel, followed up by an equally painful hug. 

“Fuck you, Molly,” she cried, “how could you do that to me - to us? Never take a hit for me again, do you hear me?” She jabbed her finger to his chest. 

“Ouch,” he huffed, covering the scar with his palm. Pieces of memory clicked together. “So that’s what happened - he was heading towards you then,” he said, tracing the magical stitching. 

Caleb inched a little closer. “You don’t remember?” 

Mollymauk shook his head, droplets falling from his hair. “Not completely. I recall parts of things in various ‘clarity,’ but most things are like dreams.” His hand drifted to his girdle. “Shit,” he said, pulling out a soaked parchment; he laid it flat on the stone, blowing on the already stained and blotchy ink. 

Twisting his head, Caleb glanced over the paper, the light from Molly’s scimitar showing off the hastefully written letter he had written years ago and left in the tiefling’s clothing. The blood along the edges had wrinkled the corners, but the letter was in one piece, folded and unfolded many times judging from how faded the words were. He ran a hand through his hair and back down to his jaw. “Molly, you…” 

“I kept everything I could find, Mr. Caleb,” he said, “and I even learned how to read your writing! H-here, I can show you!” 

Mollymauk slowly read out the blurred words the way Ku’ra had read it to him, stumbling only twice over some pronunciation. He didn’t realize he was crying, the water falling onto the rocks could have been from anywhere. 

“And I found the Gentleman in Zadash, but you all weren’t there so I waited and I waited; I’ve spent so long pretending to be someone else, I’ve spent months thinking you guys didn’t want m-me-” 

“Mollymauk,” Caleb pressed the tiefling’s face into his shoulder. “I understand. Trust me, both of us here understand how that feeling feels. There isn’t a soul here that would not want you. And we’re willing to listen, to help you. Forgive us if we are slow to take it in.” As Mollymauk lifted his head from the wet coat, the two humans looked at him oddly. 

“What happened to your horns, Molly?” Beau asked, her voice softer. 

He pressed his chin back into the folds of Caleb’s coat. “I couldn’t find everything,” was all he mentioned. 

Neither of them pried any further, only imagining their friend having to claw out of the ground again. Determined not to freeze, and to find the rest of the Nein, the trio set out along the tunnels, sandwiching Mollymauk who held his sword out like a torch. The tiefling glanced back and forth, his vision hazy, but ignorable, bumping lightly into his companions. 

“Thank you for leaving things behind for him-me, uh - it was encouraging to know I had some past that wasn’t completely dark.” 

Hours must have passed as they trekked further along. With the daylight of his sword gone, Mollymauk tried to focus on changes in air pressure and currents, helping to at least lead his tired friends towards the surface. Undoubtedly Lisle would have woken up his friends and Cree by now, but it was too difficult to discern if they would find any liable second entryways into this cave. Caleb wanted to rest to recover some of his arcane abilities, but every second counted to find their friends. 

Or rather, for their friends to find them. 

The familiar voice of one Miss Snow, or as Beau referred to her as Jester, reverberated around the walls. Invigorated, Beauregard shouted back, and the two continued yelling at each other until the soft glow of a staff appeared in the tunnel ahead. Caleb kept his hand by Mollymauk’s back - leading or following, the tiefling couldn’t make out. His head was getting increasingly light. 

One blue tiefling came barreling forward alongside a small goblin girl, both embracing their lost friends. Mollymauk stepped to the side, his hand finding the wall to keep himself steady. It was sure something to see them together like this; he eyed the peacock spirit as it appeared and danced around them, its feathers blooming into a full display. He laughed, biting his knuckle to keep himself from breaking down. 

The others caught up with them, a display of awkward yet comforting discussion between the group. His eyes eventually settled over the same purple irises he saw before, wide and full of tears. 

“Molly!” Jester cried, running over to where he stood in the shadows. She crushed him in an embrace. “I knew I heard you reply back! I thought I was imagining it, you know? But then we kept getting busy and I hadn’t had the chance to try again! What are you doing here? Do you want to see your tarot cards? I painted a really cool one, I’ll have to show you when we get out of here because it’s really cool, like, really cool - are you okay? Molly, you’re bleeding, why didn’t you say anything, I can heal you, you know, hey, Molly?” 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, knees buckling from under him. Jester’s arms were stronger than he imagined as she caught him before he hit the bedrock. The Mighty Nein ran towards them, spinning widely from the floor to the ceiling; Mollymauk’s head lolled. “I’ve missed…” 

Day 352

_Warm._

That was his first thought. 

Followed by _soft_ as he burrowed his nose into the fur of whatever was embracing him. It smelt of flowers, a childlike dream, a valley of angels keeping watch as he settled into the grass, listening to the thunder roll on in the distant storm. He was dry, content, listening to the steady drum of a heartbeat as someone combed their fingers through his hair. 

He woke up. 

Any thrashing he did seemed expected by this one, she widened her hold to let him breathe as deeply as he needed to. Mollymauk took in the morning air, outside under the canopy, far from the entry to the cave. His heart settled slightly, body aching to fall back into the furs. 

“You had lost a lot of blood,” the woman said, her voice quiet, hardly above a whisper. Mollymauk looked up at her, the sun casting light behind her like a halo. Her heterochromia eyes were soft; the tiefling couldn’t look away as he settled back into her hold. She was muscular, dark, and absolutely terrifying - she was beautiful. “Do you remember me?” she asked, her calloused hands pushing the hair out of his face; she looked quizzically at his lighter shaded eye. 

Mollymauk, perfectly content if he died here, couldn’t help but see the peacock plumage still dancing around them. He bit back a laugh, his hand dizzily drifting up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You’re my charm,” he said. 

Beau had given the others The Talk about not harassing Mollymauk when he woke up; the others mostly meaning Jester and Nott, who stalked around Yasha in anticipation. Upon seeing the barbarian cuddle up to the lean lavender stringbean, they went in for the kill. 

“Molly, I’m so happy you’re alive-” 

“-how long have you been back?-” 

“-your hair has gotten so long! We can have slumber parties and -” 

“-I’ve noticed your crossbow; are you trying to upstage me because I will win -” 

“-we have so many stories to tell you -” 

“-I only stole from grumpy people, I swear -” 

Yasha pushed the two off from Mollymauk’s lap. “Guys, he needs space, this is a lot for him,” she said. 

“Truth be told, I haven’t been this happy in months,” said Mollymauk, sitting up between the ladies. “Overwhelmed, certainly. But a good overwhelmed, I think.” 

“Good overwhelmed is better than the other option,” a man said, stepping around them with a plate of food. The half-orc looked different than his memories played out. Even the peacock seemed taken aback as it followed the man as he knelt down. 

“You’re,” Mollymauk pointed a finger out, “Fjord. You and Mol-me were roommates if I recall? We almost -” 

“Aha! Yeah, I’m Fjord, that’s me, mhm, good job Molly, it’s really great to see you again, I uh, ate your sword then threw it in a lava pit - I am so sorry, I didn’t expect to have you come for my life like this, here’s some food - Caduceus made it so it’s vegetarian, but it’s good!” The half-orc left the plate in Mollymauk’s lap and backed away, face red. 

“He sounds… different from what I imagined.” 

Jester gasped. “That’s right! He had his other accent when you were here!” 

“I miss the yee-haw Fjord,” Nott added, picking at the food just given to the tiefling. “Eldritch blast is never the same.” 

Mollymauk picked up the plate, “Well, if he’s more comfortable with himself now, then, I think that’s great. We should all feel happy with who we are, right?” 

They all hesitantly nodded. 

“Molly,” Yasha started, “can I ask you something?” 

He nodded, eyeing Caleb as the human made eye-contact from over the aasimar’s shoulder and gave a soft smile. 

“What happened to your eye?” 

Mollymauk blinked. “Has it not always been like this?” 

“No, it hasn’t.” 

“Oh.” He touched the skin around his left eye where the nail wounds healed over, but the very narrow, slightly protruding veins etched upwards to the top of his head. “It’s been like that since I got out.” He glared at Lucien as the cat spirit formed to wander around their encampment. “Can I ask you something?” 

Yasha nodded, “of course.” 

“Who is Caduceus?” 

Apparently he had met the firbolg hours earlier when he first woke up in a daze while the clerics worked on healing everyone. He took one look at the hand over his wounds and screamed, flinging his knee up so hard he broke the grave cleric’s nose. He cried about time and not wanting to die. Yasha took him up after that, apologizing on his behalf. 

Mollymauk stood behind the thin firbolg who sat over the fire, cooking more stew for the road. He took note of the light pink hair, the intricate designs in his vestiges, and the soft humming as he stirred. 

“You’re not here to knee me in the face again, are you?” the cleric asked, a calm humor in his voice. 

Mollymauk perked up from his thoughts. “Sorry about that,” he answered. “I wasn’t aware I had woken up.” 

Caduceus chuckled. “No one is aware when they are the way you were.” He looked over his shoulder, patting the log next to him. “You’re welcome to come sit. Mr. Caleb and I were just talking about you.” 

“Were you now?” Mollymauk inquired, slowly moving to sit next to him. Despite wearing heels, the tiefling felt surprisingly small. 

“Yes, the thought of undead, or someone manipulating you crossed our minds. But we did the spells necessary and you aren’t a puppet or a zombie, so that’s nice.” 

“Oh. Well, I could have told you that.” They sat in silence while the stew simmered. Mollymauk’s tail flicked through the grass. “You know about dead things, Mr. Clay?” 

Caduceus sat up and looked at him. “I have a decent amount of experience with them, yes.” 

“And you’re wondering why I didn’t decompose when you stuck your hand in my grave.” 

He seemed taken aback by the inquiry. The firbolg’s face crossing from surprise to concern to compliance. “The thought did cross my mind,” he admitted. “But in these circumstances, I am glad it did not work. Your friends have missed you very much.” 

Mollymauk cupped his hand over the left side of his head. “I’m not so sure it completely failed to work, Mr. Clay.” 

He met his gaze halfway. 

“I see dead people, Mr. Clay; and things I don’t think my previous life saw before. You see, I’m not the Molly everyone remembers, but I have his memories and feel some of the things he felt. I remember things for Lucien too - the person Molly was before he died the first time. They follow me around - I see them almost every day. They’re wandering around right now,” Mollymauk explained, pointing to the group. “Molly is following Mr. Caleb while he reads, he has been for a while, and Lucien is digging into bags like he’s looking for something.” He pointed to his hair. “There are cracks in my skull where these flowers keep budding up, and apparently my eye hasn’t _always_ been this color, so that’s different-!” 

“Hey now,” Caduceus interrupted, raising the stirring spoon in the air. “You’re giving yourself anxiety, take a breath.” 

Mollymauk inhaled sharply, letting his nails rake through the curls in his hair. 

“Good, good.” Caduceus shifted in his seat, putting a leg on either side of the log so he faced the tiefling head on. “Is it alright if I look at your head? If I touch that?” 

He waited for a nod after tears were wiped away and carefully analyzed the work his decompose spell did on the deity-touched or cursed tiefling. 

Beau crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, and crossed them again. “What do you mean he sees into the Ethereal plane?” 

“Just that,” Caduceus replied, gesturing towards Mollymauk who sat in Yasha’s furs again as the evening settled in. He had lent enough trust to Caduceus to not out his new personality upfront to his friends, and he had kept his word thus far, explaining the unique differences in a neutral way. “The left eye, being what my spell likely targeted, is attuned to the plane like one would a magical object.” 

“That explains why he was talking to nothing earlier,” Nott added, nodding along. 

Mollymauk furrowed his brow. “When was I doing that?” 

“You were pacing before going to talk to Caduceus,” she said, “I wasn’t eavesdropping though! Didn’t hear a thing!” 

Mollymauk dropped his face into his knees in a groan. 

“I like your hair flowers,” Yasha told him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she whispered back. He smiled up at her. 

Fjord sat by the fire, back to the flame. “How come you remember things now when you didn’t last time?” 

Mollymauk fiddled with his fingers, the moon card around his neck worse for wear than it was before. “No one left me anything last time,” he offered as an answer. It was sincere - he wasn’t sure what would have become of him if he didn’t have Caleb’s letter to run off of. 

Caleb was suddenly next to him, handing him a small flask. “Sorry,” he whispered to him while the others talked to Caduceus about his theories. “About burning you during the fight. I couldn’t see, I’m sorry.” 

“Not your fault,” Mollymauk replied, giving him a small shoulder bump. “Rather be burned by you than petrified by a medusa. I don’t think I’d make a good statue.” 

“Oh, well, you’d be a very pretty one - I mean, ja, nein, that would be awful if that happened.” 

“Mr. Caleb?” 

“J-ja?” 

“If you guys keep me, can you help me with something?” 

“Keep you? Mollymauk, we -” 

The tiefling bumped him again. “I’ll rephrase. If I’m joining the Mighty Nein… again -” 

“Ja, I hope you will.” 

“- could you help me with writing? I can write my name, but that was from copying how you spelt it in your letter. I have trouble piecing words together on paper; it just doesn’t flow right. And I was told my spelling is atrocious.” 

Caleb shuffled in his place, pushing his hair back over his shoulder. “Um, ja, I can do that with you, I’d love to help.” 

Mollymauk beamed, his face poking out of the furs like a lion. “And I can teach you Druidic if you’d like. It’s completely against the rules, but I’d do it for you.” 

“That would be excellent.” 

They clicked their flasks together. 

Caleb’s magical dome was horrifyingly comfortable. Despite everyone commenting that it was cramped before, having Mollymauk included made it a pile. Yasha held him from behind, Jester rested her head on his leg with Nott by her side. Even Beau cautiously kept herself by his head, her hand grazing his arm. Caleb’s hair occasionally was caught under his arm, accompanied by quiet apologies and hums. Fjord sat next to Caduceus, the two taking first watch. 

“I feel contently protected,” Mollymauk mouthed to them, earning grins in reply. 

Switching watches paused as there were snapping of branches in the trees around them. The Mighty Nein eyed the outside of the hut, watching and waiting for the worst. 

“Sir?” a distant voice called, followed by a just as harsh “Shut the fuck up, Medir!” 

Mollymauk sat up between the girls, pushing Nott’s nocked crossbow down. “Hang on,” he said. “Trust me, please.” 

He stuck his head out of the magical barrier, cupped his hand around his mouth and sent a bird call into the wood. 

There was silence. 

Then, an owl call bounced back at him, three hoots, first one the longest. Mollymauk smiled - Stenton, Lisle, and Medir were nearby. He counted his blessings that night that he did not have to confront Cree in front of the Mighty Nein. 

The Nein were pleasantly surprised at the sudden arrival of their favorite bandits, followed by a surrounding confusion as the men referred to Mollymauk as “sir” and “boss” rather than a name. 

“Cree has been houndin’ us all day - I swear she’s gonna to maim someone,” Stenton told him. He tried not to glance at the several heads poking out of the magical dome. 

“It’s been so long you guys!” Jester called, waving her hand. “How goes your new trade?” 

Medir stepped forward, hands on his hips. “We’re actually doing somethin’ new now; and get well paid for it!” 

Mollymauk yanked back at his collar. “We’re all still criminals, actually, don’t get your hopes too high up.” He looked over his shoulder at his friends. “Work for the Gentleman.” 

Jester gasped louder. “You work for my dad? That’s so funny, we can see each other all the time now!” 

“Your dad?” the ex-bandits repeated. 

“Your dad is the Gentleman?” Mollymauk spun on his heel. “I was never told that!” 

The blue tiefling covered her mouth. “Sorry, it was after, y’know.” 

“Sir, is this, well, are they the family ye mentioned?” Lisle asked him, noticing Mollymauk's growing habit of picking his nails. 

“Aye.” 

The young man smiled. “I’m glad you found them, sir. I told ye they wouldn’t be like dumb ogres. If this is where we part ways for now, it’s been a pleasure learnin’ from ye.” 

Mollymauk nodded, taking in the fact that he had been with these boys for a few months, and they were a pleasant tie towards Molly’s past, but a larger tie was right behind him, one that he had been looking for since he could comprehend his life. “Thank you. Thank you for understanding.” He brought the boys into a wide hug. “And please, please for the love of the Moonweaver, take a bath the next town you find, this is ridiculous.” 

Day 353

He tried not to make waking up by thrashing a habit, now surrounded by old new friends. Yasha took it well prepared, and while Mollymauk’s link to Molly’s memory didn’t detail that far, he figured it was something he did beforehand as well. 

While they rounded up their horses, which were still alive to their surprise - as if they were horrible at keeping animals - Beauregard came by with a waterskin, sidestepping around Mollymauk to find the right way to approach him. 

“I don’t bite that hard, you know,” he said, glancing over. He was cleaning his scimitar while he waited. 

“Yeah,” Beau replied, still hesitant to sit next to him. “That panther then was you, right? Back there?” Mollymauk hummed a nod, finally getting the last of the dried medusa blood off the blade. “You got in-between us during the fight - again.” 

Mollymauk clicked his tongue, noting her tone. “Did I? Hmm, I didn’t notice.” 

She punched his shoulder - probably lightly, but the tiefling rubbed the spot like someone threw a rock at him. “I’m not mad, well, I kinda am, but, you’re here so I can’t be mad mad. I wouldn’t had let you take the shot if I knew, but -” 

“You’re welcome,” Mollymauk said, setting his sword aside. “I didn’t know it was any of you while going in there, I just came to help. If this was a ‘thank you, don’t do it again’ message, then you’re welcome, and I will definitely do it again, please don’t try and stop me; watching you try to mouth the words ‘thank you’ is very painful as is.” 

Beau blinked at him. 

Mollymauk blinked back. “That was rude, wasn’t it - I’m sorry -” 

“No, no, no,” she said back, raising her hands. “That was just very… nostalgic.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Um, I had another question; about the conversation last night. Your eye,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the log. “What’s that like?” 

Frankly he hadn’t thought much about it since Caduceus had him cover one eye then the other to test out how it worked. It was questionable debating if seeing Lucien and Molly’s spirits were better or worse that they weren’t just figments of his imagination. Neither of them were around now; the world looked as it did to anybody else. Mollymauk huffed, letting his hair fall back over his face. 

“It doesn’t feel any different,” he replied. “I just sometimes see things that I guess shouldn’t be there.” 

There was a small argument while deciding riding partners. They only had to make it to the closest teleportation circle - Caleb didn’t trust leaving a sigil around the area. Jester clung to Mollymauk, pulling him to her horse after bartering with Nott, who sat defeated next to Caleb. The tiefling glanced at the wizard from the other mount, a smirk teasing at his lip while Jester started off on one of her many adventuring stories. He watched the phantom snow dust the air as she talked, trailing after her fingers while she drew out imaginary pictures. 

“Where are we going?” Mollymauk asked, finally convinced he was more confused than worried. “Do you not live with the Gentleman in Zadash?” 

“That would be different,” Yasha said with a small smile. 

Jester waved her hand dismissively. “He’s busy doing other stuff. We save the world.” 

“More like we try to be diplomatic between two warring states,” Caduceus proposed. “We have a home in Xhorhas. That’s where we’re going.” 

“A home?” Mollymauk repeated. He followed them into a chamber, the floor and walls lined with arcane sigils. They waited in the room while the sigils began to glow. His eyes circled the room; the nervousness picking at his skin. 

“See you later, sky!” Jester waved at the glass ceiling, to the night above them. Mollymauk looked up to the full moon overhead, softly beaming back down at him. 

_Okay,_ he thought, as arcane light filled the room. _I trust you._

He disappeared from the chamber alongside the Mighty Nein.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah? Yeah?? Mollymauk is being flung into this new adventure with the people he has been looking for all of his life and there are going to be lots of firsts.
> 
> So I'm happy to say there will be a Follow Up story, starting right where we left off as Molly3 experiences new things with the M9. It'll be set up more like a prompt story chapter by chapter - some scenarios I'll take from you guys if you wonder what would happen if Molly3 gets high (again) for the first time, or, you know, does the Do (again) for the first time - I have no boundaries, I love all the ships, bring it on.  
> Keep an eye out post Katsucon for upcoming announcements on my IG (@nerenight) and chapters to come!

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to send a lovely shout out to Armaria Cosplay, my level 10 Caleb for writing out the letter that Caleb left for Molly in episode 27! Such angst!


End file.
